


Three Ways the Ghostbusters Celebrated Holidays

by havocthecat



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Holidays, Yuletide, Yuletide 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havocthecat/pseuds/havocthecat
Summary: Just because you're a Ghostbuster doesn't mean that you can't celebrate the holidays. It just means they might get a little weird.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teyla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teyla/gifts).



**Arbor Day**

The PKE meter is humming, the red and blue light of its spinning antennae throwing shadows against the trees, which lean forward and rustle over the Ghostbusters. Erin brushes away a shower of acorns and frowns at the trees. 

"I think they did that on purpose," she says. "These trees are creepy."

Holtzmann pulls a toothpick from her coverall pocket and pops it into her mouth. "Course they did," she says, as a branch cracks and falls. Holtzman twirls on her heel and sidesteps it. "They've been watching us since we walked in. Didn't you notice?"

"I am going to find the idiot that decided to name this park New Birnam Wood," says Patty, proton pack at the ready. "Not to mention the numbskull that thought it was a good idea to ship trees over from Scotland, and I am going to kick their asses. Worst Arbor Day ever."

"Didn't you say this park was founded two hundred years ago?" asks Abby. "Not every dead person is a ghost."

"This park has a scale replica of Cawdor Castle," says Patty, frowning at Abby. "I bet there are three witches with a cauldron waiting for us. Stupid Macbeth."

"Oh my God!" exclaims Erin, whirling around to Patty. "First of all, you call it the Scottish Play, because otherwise it's seriously bad luck, and second, I know what we need to do! We need to make New Birnam Wood come to Dunsinane!"

"Never threaten an ex-theater kid with Shakespeare," says Abby. She holds up one hand and Erin high-fives her. "To be or not to be is _not_ the question."

"It's also the wrong play," points out Erin, who looks around defensively when Abby narrows her eyes at her. "I'm just saying! Let's get these fallen branches and see if we've got a Lady M or three witches at the castle."

**Halloween/All Saints Day**

"Mom!" Erin tightens her hands into fists and hunches her shoulders in as her mother's dark, almost mildewy-green, vaporous, and very disapproving form hovers three feet in the air above her desk at the firehouse. "These are my friends, and my business partners, and I am _not_ leaving them to beg Columbia my job back. I was miserable there."

"I think it's amazing how she don't even have to say anything and you know what she wants," says Patty. "That's one hell of a relationship with your momma."

"You never met Erin's mom," mutters Abby. 

"She's one pretty mamma," says Holtzmann, leaning forward and staring at Erin's mom, all the while reaching out to grab a handful of candy pumpkins and not spilling too many. "Erin, why didn't you tell us your mom had unfinished business?"

"Because her unfinished business involves making sure I'm a professional success," says Erin, and her forehead wrinkles up as she grimaces, "and she doesn't think the Conductors of the Metaphysical Examination are as professional a success as tenure at Columbia."

Erin's mother draws herself up in ghastly, skeletal disapproval and opens her mouth to shriek - and spew ectoplasm on Erin, who flinches and screws her eyes shut.

"Does your momma know you helped save the city and the federal government is bankrolling these fancy new digs?" asks Patty. "Because that counts as professional success by just about anybody's book."

"Unless they're Libertarians," points out Holtzmann, tossing an orange and green candy pumpkin in her mouth and chewing. "Is your mom a Libertarian, Erin?"

Erin opens one eye and gives her mom a half-hopeful, half-fearful look and shakes her head. "Mom?" she asks.

Green mist swirls around Erin's mother, lightening from grave mold to the bright green of spring leaves, and then fading into pale green and then into pure white. She smiles beatifically at Erin and fades into the ghost dimension as the clock begins to strike midnight.

Erin lets out an explosive sigh and stumbles back against Holtzmann's work bench. "Thanks, Patty."

**Christmas**

"This Ghost of Christmas Yet To Be is about to be _toast_ ," shouts Holtzmann, snapping her goggles down around her eyes, drawing her proton pistols, and flipping the safeties off. "No way is some ghost getting in the way of my Christmas hackathon."

It stands in the sidewalk, wearing a cowled robe that pools at its feet. The ghost is made of shadow, darker than black and almost yawning with an emptiness that absorbs the holiday lights from the storefronts behind it. 

"You have the weirdest Christmas parties," says Abby, throwing her proton grenade. 

It doesn't move, doesn't dodge, somehow the ghost ends up across the street when the grenade explodes in the empty air where its hood used to be. Its bony finger points at Holtzmann and a hollow, groaning sound echoes through the air. 

"Not a party!" says Holtzmann. "Just me and my babies and an uninterrupted day of tinkering. Just the way I like it."

"You weren't going to come to my Christmas party?" asks Erin, dropping her proton gun by her side and giving Holtzmann an upset look. "I spent hours trying to figure out how to make beef tongue for you. I bought a pressure cooker My apartment smells really bad."

"You made beef tongue for me?" says Holtzmann. She smiles and pats her stomach. "With mustard and horseradish? You didn't skip the anise?"

"She called me like half a dozen times to make sure she got the recipe right," says Patty, shaking her head. "Holtzmann, you can tinker with your babies three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, including tomorrow after we have dinner. Take a few hours and come on over."

"Well," says Holtzmann, propping one pistol on her shoulder and spinning on one heel. "All right. Skip the toast. I can delay the hackathon. There's Erin's tongue to be had, ladies!"

"I'll give you some tongue, baby," says Patty, cackling, and the ghost - of Christmas Yet To Be, perhaps, or just a ghost - fades into the night and the lights of the Christmas decorations twinkle a little more brightly.


End file.
